


The Funeral

by LaviniaLavender



Series: The Hellsing Inheritance [3]
Category: Harry Potter - Rowling, Hellsing
Genre: Family, Gen, General, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-15
Updated: 2006-10-15
Packaged: 2017-10-05 14:55:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaviniaLavender/pseuds/LaviniaLavender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Expected and unexpected meetings at Arthur Hellsing's funeral.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Funeral

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first completed Hellsing fic, written several years ago in high school. Narrative obviously isn't that great, but I still like the dialogue.

A blanket of low, dark clouds covered the sky from horizon to horizon, giving the impression that it was closer to dusk than what it really was: noon. It seemed eerily quiet, as if anything spoken would not be heard, to those gathered in small groups across the northeast corner of land – the family cemetery – on the Hellsing estate.

A merciless wind sharp with cold cut across the cemetery, driving the mourners into tight huddles in a futile attempt to avoid the worst of the weather. Only two made no effort to seek such comfort. Integra Hellsing stood without moving beside her father's freshly-covered grave, her back and shoulders stiffly upright. She was wearing a very thick black cloak, dark gloves, a scarf wrapped tightly around her throat, and a dark round hat from which a veil of black lace hung before her face. The mourners glanced from time to time at her small, rigid figure with a mixture of pity and a little awe.

The other person who stood alone was not in the cemetery at all. His red trench coat and hat would have drawn everyone's attention, but he was some distance away, leaning against the back wall of the Hellsing mansion with his hat half-tilted over his face and his arms crossed. The color of his clothes was muted in the additional shadows of the building, and few noticed him.

Despite the weather, the guests were slow to approach Integra and pay their last respects. At last, the other knights of the Round Table walked past her in a single, formal line. Integra shook each of their hands in turn as they murmured about her father's dedication and patriotism, and how they looked forward to working with her in a few years. She only thanked them for coming, just as formally, in reply.

As Sir Islands walked away slowly, down the middle of the cemetery, Sir Rawlings caught up with him.

"Well? What is your opinion of her?" Sir Rawlings asked, glancing up at the tall chancellor of the Round Table.

Without looking at him, Sir Islands said, "It's impossible to judge now. She's a child, still very young, and she's just become an orphan. We can't tell her character, or how competent she'll be, from today."

From behind them, Sir Hardcastle panted slightly as he tried to catch up with them. "How much is that girl responsible for until she's seventeen?"

Sir Islands glanced back at him, over his left shoulder, before answering, "Oh, if it's the Hellsing Organization that you're worried about – they should be all right. Fargason is an able commander; he's very loyal to Hellsing, and will be able to work independently. As for Integra…we should all remember that she _is_ Arthur's daughter – both in genes and upbringing."

"With genes, I won't argue," said Sir Hardcastle firmly, nearly tripping over a large, rough patch of grass, "but personally, I am not reassured on the point of Sir Arthur having taught her to a degree anywhere near sufficient for her to competently lead Hellsing when she's of age. History shows that the best kings and leaders leave the worst children, more often than not. Besides, when would he have taught her? The girl's _twelve_ –"

"Thirteen," corrected Sir Islands, "and she will be fourteen in April."

"Even so – she's been away at school for the past few years, and before that – good heavens, she's _still_ a child!"

"No one's disputing that," said Sir Islands. They – he, Sir Rawlings, Sir Hardcastle, and a few other knights who had joined the group – came to a stop now, some distance away from Integra and close to the cemetery's entrance.

Sir Rawlings coughed into his glove. "Speaking of school – will she be returning to Hogwarts next month, or next year?"

"I asked her," said Sir Islands. "She said she would be finishing her education there – all seven years – though she would not let it hinder any of her duties as head of Hellsing."

One of the other knights gave a slight, skeptical cough. "We'll see about that."

"If I'm not very much mistaken," said Sir Rawlings suddenly, "there's Albus Dumbledore standing with her right now."

The knights turned together to look at the tall, thin man who was before Integra. His long, wispy white hair blew out from under his hat as he bent over slightly to her. Beside him were two other people – one, a tall, feminine figure, and the other shorter and significantly portly.

Integra faced her headmaster, deputy headmistress, and head of House in turn with the same impassive expression, handshake, and words with which she had faced everyone who had previously passed her. Dumbledore, however, had not yet let go of her hand; he was looking down at her, his eyes more somber than she could ever remember seeing them before.

"I hope I will see you next week in Hogwarts," he was saying, and Integra nodded, distantly hearing her father's rasping voice ordering her to return to school until she completed her seventh year.

"I will be staying in school until I finish my N.E.W.T.s," she said now to Dumbledore. "But there might be occasions when I will have to leave the school for short periods of time, if there is a situation here that needs my presence."

He nodded gravely. "You will have my full cooperation in such situations."

"Thank you."

"Now –" Dumbledore bent his knees, bringing him closer to Integra. "I wanted to inquire as to that very fascinating vampire who is standing against the wall of your house."

Integra's eyes widened slightly as her only sign of surprise. She had watched all the guests arrive; none had come close to approaching Alucard, and there was no human vision that could discern his teeth or the color of his eyes at this distance.

After a moment, she said, "He is in the service of Hellsing. His powers are carefully controlled, and he's already proven to me his loyalty."

Dumbledore nodded again, as though he understood. "Would it be possible for me to speak to him?"

Integra hesitated again, but then said, "Yes."

Professor Dumbledore smiled very slightly and gently at her, squeezing her hand in both of his as he straightened. Integra turned her head to watch him as he began walking toward the vampire dressed in red, who had not moved in posture or in place since she had last glanced at him, before turning back to speak with her favorite teacher. It was not the professor's class that Integra esteemed so much, but the teaching methods and discipline which she wished was the same in every class.

"My sincere condolences, Miss Hellsing."

"Thank you for coming, Professor McGonagall."

It was not until Dumbledore had cleared the cemetery, leaving no doubt what his object was, that Alucard moved at all. He raised his head, revealing the yellow-tinted glasses that made the color of his eyes an illusion to most humans, and his mouth stretched into a very wide grin, showing his pointed teeth most conspicuously.

Dumbledore came to a stop a few feet before him, appearing to be perfectly at ease. He said, his tone light, though the usual benevolent quality in his voice and expression was missing, "I had wondered what had happened to you. It's been quite some time since I heard anything about you at all."

"I was incapacitated for a couple of decades," Alucard answered; everything about him, from his posture to the expression in his eyes, voice, and grin indicated great amusement.

"You seem to be back in full strength," Dumbledore remarked, as though it was of little consequence. "What do you go by now?"

"Alucard."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "That's much less subtle than I expected."

"It's subtle enough for most."

Dumbledore bowed his head slightly, acknowledging the point. "I came to see about certain binds upon your impressive abilities, but those gloves you are wearing rather answer all my questions."

Alucard, who had not uncrossed his arms, now raised his left hand to inspect the back of it himself. "They do say a lot, don't they?"

Dumbledore's tone continued to be polite and amiable, but the abrupt change from subject to subject, without transition, communicated volumes to Alucard. "Integra mentioned something that gave me a second reason to want to speak with you. Something about you having already proved your loyalty – or rather, I think, you proved how well those gloves are enchanted. I suspect this has something to do with the conspicuous absence of her uncle today, whom I understood to be the only remaining close relative."

"He's dead," said Alucard bluntly and without inflection; the smile, both in his eyes and mouth, fully communicated to Dumbledore that the obvious conclusion was the correct one, and thus came to pass the second, if slightly less dramatic, occasion of Alucard protecting Integra.

Snow began to swirl down out of the dark sky. Most of the guests were gone now; there were still Sir Islands and a couple of other knights standing together by the edge of the cemetery. Integra didn't know what they were waiting for, but she wished they would hurry up and leave; she knew she couldn't go inside until everyone was gone. Professors McGonagall and Slughorn were also still standing not far off, though their reason was more evident: they were waiting for Dumbledore. He, however, was returning now, and Integra turned slightly to look – he seemed no different than before, and Alucard had resumed his position with his hat tilted over half his face.

But now something else caught her eye: someone coming around the mansion, walking very quickly toward the cemetery. Something instinctive within her recognized him an instant before her mind did, and she felt a sudden, leaping feeling that was almost carried out in her feet, a second before her brain registered: _Walter_.

She barely restrained herself from tearing forward to meet him, or even taking a couple of steps out; instead, she only gave a violent start that caused her professors to glance to her, and then turn to see what had caught her attention.

Integra had not realized how much she missed Walter until she saw him now as he hurried into the cemetery, visibly just restraining himself from running up to her. He had left for the business in South America only a day after she had gotten home for the winter holidays. He had been gone, delayed from returning again and again, for every awful point of the last two weeks: from her father's sudden worsening, to how no one told her what was going on until her father called her at the very end; then being alone again until she realized her uncle was trying to kill her, and everything that followed; to struggling to cover her uncle's disappearance and her own injury while simultaneously arranging the funeral – and the only way she had managed to get through it all was by repeating her father's dying instructions: _it does not matter, it does not matter how I feel_….

Holding herself in place now as Walter quickly made his way to her was one of the most difficult things she had done in the last few days. The only outward sign of this that her professors could see through her veil and glasses was how her eyes suddenly seemed too large for her face.

Walter maintained his speed, taking very large strides, clearly pulling himself back every few steps from breaking into an unseemly run, until he was only a few yards before Integra. As he got this close and was able to see her face and the way she stood, he slowed down to a very deliberate walk, taking in her appearance and how she was evidently not in such terrible need of support as he had feared.

He came to a stop a few feet from her, and there was a moment of silence and stillness as neither moved nor looked anywhere, but at each other, and then Walter quietly dropped to one knee and said with soft respect, "Sir Integra."

She had only first heard the title addressed to her that day, by a small percentage of the mourners – including Professor Slughorn – who had passed her, and it had meant nothing to her, except prompting a deep desire that they wouldn't, because it _didn't_ mean anything – until she heard Walter say it now.

Then it was as though everything, absolutely everything that had happened in the last two weeks, and how she had kept herself under such very tight control all today, hit her at once. Integra fought it hard, clenching her gloved hands into fists where they hung at her sides, pressing her lips together and squeezing her eyes shut, but two tears did escape and slid slowly down her cheeks.

The wind had finally died down until it was barely perceptible, but the snow swirling silently down from the sky was visibly increasing, both in rate and amount, so that people at any significant distance could no longer make one another out clearly. This signaled the end of the funeral; within a few minutes, the cemetery was completely deserted.

Integra paused a moment outside it as Walter shut the low iron gate. She glanced slightly toward the back of the house; but Alucard had already gone. She turned her eyes back to the frozen ground as a sudden gust blew, its chill cutting straight through the lace of her veil as she began the slow trek back up to her house.


End file.
